


A Court of Azeroth and Prythian

by Merinnan



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, World of Warcraft
Genre: Crossover, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-ACOWAR, Pre-World of Warcraft: Legion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-21 21:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14293959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merinnan/pseuds/Merinnan
Summary: After being shipwrecked in Azeroth, King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind somehow finds himself in Prythian, where he meets...Prince Varian Wrynn of Adriata.Now the Courts of Prythian need to work out how and why King Varian was brought there, and what is coming for both worlds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing. I just thought one day "hey, wouldn't it be funny if Warcraft Varian and ACoTaR Varian met each other?", which somehow became "and they both look just like each other apart from colouring and one, y'know, being Fae and the other human", which became "and if ACoTaR Varian's family name was ALSO Wrynn", and...it kind of snowballed from there.
> 
> No-one outside of the Summer Court (besides King Varian) appears in this chapter, but they will in the next one. And I'm sure more than the ones that I've tagged will show up, just IDK when yet.

Water filled his lungs as a falling cannon collided with him, causing him to gasp involuntarily despite himself. He couldn’t spit it out, not while still underwater, so all he could do was to try not to swallow it as he struggled to get free of the sinking ship and make his way to the surface. He could see it above him, see the sunlight glinting through the water as he fought his way towards it. He narrowly dodged another cannon plunging down through the water, only to register something else hitting him and everything going dark.

Light knows how long had passed before Varian came to with a start, spluttering water as a wave lifted him high above the surface and deposited him on a hard wooden surface.  _A ship_ , he registered, feeling the familiar rocking beneath him as he coughed up water.  _With a shaman?_  It had to be, he couldn’t think of any other explanation for a wave gently depositing him onto a ship. Someone knelt next to him as he forced himself to keep coughing. He needed to clear all of that water out of his lungs. He felt whoever it was lay a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to look at them through the sodden hair plastering his face.

A woman – an elf, he realised, noting the ethereal looks and pointed ears. Dark skinned and white haired, with bright blue eyes.  _Quel’dorei?_  No, not quel’dorei, her eyes were the bright blue of a summer sky, not the glowing blue of arcane magic. In fact, she wasn’t any kind of elf he was familiar with – her pointed ears were nowhere near long enough, and those blue eyes didn’t belong to any of the elf races that he’d come across. In the moments it took the King of Stormwind to register all of this, the woman’s eyes had gone wide, in recognition and shock.

“Varian…” Her tone of voice was one of disbelief, and Varian frowned at her, trying to work out if he’d met her before. Something about her was familiar, but surely he’d remember coming across such a strange elf before.

“Have we met?” he asked her, his voice hoarse from swallowing and coughing up seawater.

“What is it?” another voice said, almost at the same time. For a moment, Varian wondered if he’d somehow spoken twice, and looked up. He froze. Staring back down at him, looking as shocked as he felt, was a very familiar face. He knew it well. Despite the pointed ears, darker skin, and much lighter hair, he saw that face every morning in the mirror.

Shaking off the woman’s hand, he was on his feet in an instant, looking from one to the other. His hand twitched, aching to pull his sword then and there, but he restrained himself for now.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Where am I and how did I get here?”

“Actually,” another voice broke in, “I was going to start with ‘who are you, and what is a human doing drowning in the waters of my court?’”

Varian turned to study the speaker, another dark-skinned and light-haired elf. He looked young, but then again, so did the other two, and they were elves of some kind. Light only knew how old they actually were.

“Also,” the elf continued. “You’re welcome.” He gestured briefly, and the water on the deck was instantly swept back into the sea.

“You’ve been spending too much time around Rhysand,” the woman muttered. He grinned at her, then turned his gaze back onto Varian, the grin fading to a small frown. Varian stood tall, pushing back his dripping hair and giving the three elves a grim look.

“Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind,” he said. “Now, who are you, where am I, and what am I doing here?”

The three exchanged looks with each other. Now that his head was clearer and that he could see all three of them, Varian realised two things. One, that they all looked similar to each other – similar enough that they had to be related. Second, that he now realised why the woman looked familiar, and that the third elf did, too. They reminded him of his mother and his uncle.

“I am Tarquin Wrynn, High Lord of the Summer Court,” the third elf said.

_What?_

“My cousin, Cresseida, Princess of Adriata,” Tarquin continued, gesturing to the woman, “and her brother – Varian, Prince of Adriata.”

_WHAT?!_

Something must have shown on his face, because Tarquin gave him a tight grin, then turned to the other elf male. The other Varian. “From the look on your face, cousin, you’re already filling Amren in on what’s going on. Please ask her to pass on to Rhysand and Feyre that I’d really appreciate it if one of them could spare some time to visit as soon as possible.” He looked at Cresseida. “And if you could send the same message to Helion.”

The princess nodded once, giving the human Varian a calculating look before walking off. Tarquin turned to the two Varians, the elven one giving him a nod that mirrored that of his sister.

“Well,” Tarquin said, giving them both a bemused smile, “let’s get back to Adriata, shall we?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to POV switch. I'll probably switch POVs each chapter, but I plan to keep it to the same POV for the entire chapter. For now.

_ Interesting. _

That was all Amren had to say after he finished telling her everything that had happened in the past few minutes since Tarquin had fished a drowning man out of the sea, no ship in sight other than their own. Honestly, Varian didn't know what other response he expected.

_ And? _ he prompted. 

_ I'll ask them. _

He nodded, keeping a close eye on the human walking confidently with him and Tarquin. The human who claimed the same name as him. The human who, barring his paler skin, darker hair, and rounded ears, could be his twin. Varian narrowed his eyes slightly, watching the way the human moved and the sword strapped to his back. The man was a warrior through and through, and Varian did not like him being this close to his High Lord.

_ They'll both be there shortly, _ Amren broke in over his thoughts. 

Both? Thank the Cauldron.

_ And you? _ he sent back. He felt a ripple of amusement come back down the bond.

_ Of course. _

He couldn't help his grin at that. It had been almost a week since he'd last seen her, and it was starting to drive him slightly insane. Being the Second of the Night Court and Second of the Summer Court left less time for each other than he liked.

_ You could always move to Velaris, _ she purred.

Shit. He hadn't meant that to be overheard.

_ You know I can't. _ He didn't suggest that she move to Adriata. He'd only made that mistake once and, despite Rhys’ reassurances to the contrary, Varian was still fairly sure that only the fact that they were mates had kept Amren from killing him.

Tarquin had paused near the port railing, giving Varian a knowing smile. The human Varian had also stopped, giving him the same assessing look that he'd been giving the man earlier. Varian forced his expression back to neutrality. 

“The High Lord and Lady of Night and their Second will all be here shortly,” he told his cousin, who didn't lose that knowing smile despite the relief that flashed behind his eyes.

“Good,” he said simply, and extended his hands to Varian and the human. Varian took one at once. The human, after a moment's hesitation, took the other.

A moment later, Tarquin had winnowed the three of them back to the city. The first thing Varian noticed was that the human appeared completely unfazed by it, immediately glancing around to take in his new surroundings. He either had iron self control, or winnowing was something he'd experienced before. Varian filed that away.

“Welcome to Adriata,” Tarquin said. They stood on one of the castle balconies, just outside of the wards, and looking out over the city. The human studied it, the warm air already starting to dry his hair and clothes, then glanced at Tarquin. 

“Where is this place?” he asked, and glanced back out over the city. “Adriata?”

“The Summer Court,” Varian replied, also looking out over his city.

“And what - and where - is the Summer Court?”

It was Tarquin who answered this time. “My realm,” he said, gesturing out to the city and beyond. “One of the seven Fae realms of Prythian.”

There was a pause. Then: “Where is Prythian and what, or who, is a Fae?”

At the question, the two Fae dropped all pretence of paying attention to anything other than the human, Tarquin studying him with incredulity and Varian with suspicion.

“ _ We _ are Fae,” Tarquin said, at the same time as Varian said, “How the hell do you not know what a Fae is? And how did you get into  _ our territory _ without knowing what Prythian is?”

No human was that stupid, or ignorant. Even if he was from the continent and hadn't heard of Prythian - unlikely, given where they found him, but not completely impossible - there was no human who didn't know about the Fae, not even the most simple minded ones, and this one was far from simple minded.

It was pure instinct that had Varian now gripping the hilt of his blade. This human who looked so much like him, who claimed his name, who had appeared in Adriata’s waters with no sign of how he got there - this whole thing reeked of unknown magic, and he didn't trust it, not so soon after the war. In response, the human’s hand went to the sword strapped on his back.

“Stop,” Tarquin ordered softly. Varian’s hand clenched around his sword hilt, but he didn't draw. The human, on the other hand, had his sword part way out of its sheath before the water soaking his clothing dragged him to the ground, fighting every inch of the way. He put up a good fight, but in the end Tarquin’s magic was stronger.

“I said  _ stop _ .” It was rare that the High Lord of Summer exerted his power in an order, and it was as much from surprise as the power of the command that made Varian release his sword. With growl, the human unwillingly released his, and water trickled onto the blade and slammed it back into its sheath.

Varian and Varian glared daggers at each other, before the human one looked up at Tarquin to turn that glare on him. Tarquin simply looked back levelly.

“You may be a king as you say you are,” he said, “but  _ I  _ am the High Lord of this realm, and  _ you _ are a guest.”

“Guest?” the human growled back, still struggling against the watery bonds holding him down. “Or prisoner?”

“That's up to you,” Tarquin replied. He looked at Varian, who still stood tensed and ready, hand hovering near his hilt. “Stand down, Varian.”

The two cousins locked eyes for a moment, before Varian nodded stiffly and clasped his hands behind his back. The human leaped to his feet the instant Tarquin released him, his hand shooting back to his sword, before he paused and studied them both. With a begrudging nod, he let his hand fall to his side.

“Did we just miss all the fun?” a new voice drawled from the balcony doorway, drawing the attention of all three. Varian relaxed at the sight of the staggeringly beautiful couple in the doorway - while whatever magic behind this human  _ might _ possibly be an issue for him and Tarquin, he doubted that it was anywhere near a match for both his High Lord  _ and _ the High Lord and High Lady of Night. 

The Lady in question threw her mate an affectionately amused look at his question, giving his hand a squeeze before stepping across the balcony to give Tarquin a hug.

“Hello, Feyre,” he said in greeting, giving her a light peck on the cheek. “Rhys.”

“Hello, Tarquin.” The male stuffed his hands in his pockets before stepping onto the balcony and studying the human. “So this is what Amren was talking about,” he murmured, then grinned at Varian straining to look past him through the balcony door for a certain tiny female.

“She's downstairs, Varian,” he said. “She said something about checking on her trove.”

He'd barely finished speaking before Varian was heading to the door, glancing over his shoulder at Tarquin, who merely grinned and waved at him to go. With permission to leave now granted, Varian gave a small tug on the mate bond to let Amren know he was coming, and fairly raced through the door.

“Mates,” he heard Feyre sigh, eliciting a laugh from both Rhys and Tarquin, before he took the stairs two at a time and left them all behind.


	3. Chapter 3

“Mates,” the woman -  _Feyre_  - sighed as his double bolted through the door to whomever this 'she' was. This Amren, he guessed, from what he'd heard so far. Both Tarquin and the other man -  _Rhys_  - laughed.

"Like you're one to talk, Feyre darling," Rhys said. She rolled her eyes at him in a far more human gesture than Varian expected to see from an elf.

" _Males_ , then." She stepped back to study Varian, Rhys coming up beside her and slipping an arm around her waist. Varian studied the pair of fae elves in return, trying to identify why they looked so familiar. They certainly reminded him of someone, but unlike Tarquin and his cousins, he couldn't quite place whom. It didn't help that the pair of them both emanated power in a way he hadn't experienced since the last time he'd been in the same place as Alexstrasza, years ago.

 _By the Light, I hope that doesn't mean that these two have similar power to_ ** _Aspects_**. _How could that even be possible? No-one else on Azeroth has that kind of power._

Despite himself, he shivered slightly, and Feyre's storm-grey eyes narrowed as she turned on Tarquin.

"Cauldron, Tarquin, he's soaked!" Her tone was accusing, and Tarquin held his hands up in a placating gesture.

"We only just got back, Feyre, I wasn't expecting you to arrive so quickly." He glanced around the three of them, then gestured to Varian. "This is King Varian Wrynn, of Stormwind." Varian noted the way Rhys' eyebrow quirked up in surprise before Tarquin continued. "Varian, this is High Lord Rhysand of the Night Court, and his mate, High Lady Feyre Archeron. Now, let's get inside and settled before business."

Varian barely heard him, focused on how he'd introduced Feyre and the violet-eyed Rhysand. Mate. Not wife, but mate. His jaw clenched a little at the very orcish term. Rhysand gave him a lazy smile in return, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. Tarquin paused at the balcony door; Varian hadn't even noticed him moving.

"Shall we?" Tarquin asked pointedly. Varian and Rhysand broke off their staring match, turning and following Tarquin and Feyre. It wasn't lost on Varian that Rhysand placed himself at the rear, where he could keep an eye on him.

"I imagine you'd prefer to get dried off first," Tarquin said over his shoulder as he led the small group down the stairs. "Cresseida..."

The white-haired princess was waiting for them at the foot of the stairs, and smoothly took over from her cousin in the gap he left for her. "Follow me," she said to Varian, and walked off down the corridor without waiting to see if he followed or not. He debated not for a moment, debated staying and demanding answers from these fae elves, or finding his own way out of here and back to Stormwind, or any lands that he knew. Then he considered how badly he'd stick out in this open, sunny city - both as the only human he'd been able to spot, as well as being dressed so differently to everyone else he'd seen thus far. Not to mention that, until Feyre and Rhysand had shown up, he hadn't spotted anyone with anything approaching a similar skin tone to his. No, trying to get out would mean fighting his way out, and he wasn't stupid enough to think that that was truly a viable option given that he'd been unconscious and drowning not even ten minutes ago. Still, he'd try it if he had to, but...he didn't think that he would have to. Tarquin, at least, appeared to be just as curious about how he'd got here as he was, and if the business he wanted to discuss with Varian and the High Lord and Lady of Night was about that, as he suspected, then perhaps it was worth staying and seeing if any of them had any answers. Making up his mind, he strode after Cresseida.

She didn't say a word to him as they walked through a half dozen corridors, until she stopped before a door and pushed it open. "These are your rooms while you're here," she said. "There's dry clothes that should fit you. I'll come back in half an hour to take you to the High Lord and his guests." With that, she turned on her heel and walked off. Varian waited until she was out of sight, then stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

The room was bright and airy, and far more human-like than Varian had expected. Being a castle of stone in the midst of a city of brick and mortar, he hadn’t expected anything like a _kal’dorei_ room, but even _kal’dorei_ had some similar decorating styles to _quel’dorei_ and _sin’dorei_. He was so used to all the elven races having similarities between them when it came to their rooms and cities that it was jarring to find himself in an elven castle that didn’t share those traits. The room was decorated richly, but simply, with chairs around a small table, a large canopied bed, and a dresser. Through another door he spotted what seemed to be a bathing room.

 _Unless these are guest rooms kept specifically for humans, and kept human-like to make them more comfortable_. That was a distinct possibility, perhaps. Although, as he’d noted earlier, he hadn’t spotted anyone he recognised as a human on the streets below.  He strode to the window and looked out over the city again. Adriata. Summer Court. Prythian. He’d never heard of any of these places. Was it possible that yet another continent had lain hidden from the rest of the world, much like Pandaria had? He left the window and went to the bathing room. As promised, dry clothes had been left folded near the sunken bath-tub, already filled with steaming water. He eyed it warily, before closing the door and unbuckling Shalamayne, not trusting the sword out of his sight in this strange place.

 

 

Half an hour later, Varian was finishing buttoning up the strangely styled shirt that had been left for him when someone knocked on the door. He barely had enough time to call out an invitation to enter before the door opened and Cresseida swept in. She glanced at him up and down, dressed in familiar yet strange clothes that fit him so well that he suspected they belonged to his fae elf doppelganger, and merely raised an eyebrow at Shalamayne strapped to his back once again.

“Ready?” she asked. He nodded at her, tucking the locket with his son’s picture in it away under the shirt, and followed her out of the room and along more corridors until she stopped and entered another room, the barest knock to announce their presence.

“…and Cassian isn’t allowed to visit here,” Rhysand was saying as Varian followed Cresseida into the room. A sitting room, he noted at once, arranged with couches, chairs, and some small tables. Rhysand sat on one couch with Feyre, an arm around her shoulders, and relating whatever story he’d been telling to another impossibly handsome elf with dark skin – although not quite as dark as Tarquin and his cousins – and onyx black hair, who sat in a chair opposite. Tarquin was in a chair between them, and lurking behind Rhysand and Feyre was another dark-haired man, who had – Varian sucked his breath in.

 _Demon hunter_ , was his first thought upon seeing those wings. He realised his mistake a moment later, when he noted the man had rounded ears like a human, not long and pointed like an elf. No human had ever become a demon hunter to Varian’s knowledge, only _kal’dorei_ and _sin’dorei_. There was a flash of two glowing blue stones set into the backs of the man’s gauntlets as he crossed his arms, studying Varian with an unreadable expression, and shadows swirling and clinging to him. For a moment, Varian half wondered if the winged man were a shadow priest, what with the way the shadows that surrounded him seemed to be living creatures themselves. Again, he dismissed that thought the moment it crossed his mind – like the fae elf Varian, this man was unmistakable as anything but a warrior.

His attention was drawn back to the others in the room by a bellowing laugh from the black haired elf in response to Rhysand’s words, and by Cresseida slipping away from him to take a seat between that one and Tarquin.

“There’s a _reason_ he isn’t,” Tarquin said sharply. “I don’t care to have to rebuild every time…”

“It was one time,” Rhysand protested.

“Only because he was banned from coming back a second time,” the winged man muttered, eliciting another howl of laughter.

Tarquin waved Varian towards one of the empty chairs. “Varian, please join us. We’ve been waiting for you.” At his words, the black haired elf ceased his laughter, and studied him intently.

“So this is him?” he said.

“Yes,” Tarquin said. “Varian Wrynn of Stormwind.” As Varian prowled over and paused next to a chair, Tarquin indicated the black haired one. “Varian, this is Helion Spellcleaver, High Lord of the Day Court.” Varian gave the man a nod, which Helion returned. “And Azriel of the Night Court,” Tarquin continued, indicating the winged man. Varian gave him a stiffer nod, which was returned just as stiffly, then looked back at Tarquin.

“I see your other cousin is not yet here,” he said. For some reason, Helion found this immensely amusing, Rhysand merely smirked, Feyre elbowed her mate and rolled her eyes, Cresseida sighed, and Azriel remained expressionless. Tarquin just grinned.

“I don’t expect him to anytime soon,” he said. “He’s…preoccupied right now. But please, sit. We’re all very interested to hear what brought you here.”

“No more than I am to learn that myself,” Varian replied, then cautiously sat down. “Because I have to admit that I have no idea where _here_ is, beyond its name, or how I got here.”


	4. Chapter 4

Feyre raised a brow at the human who also called himself Varian at his admission.

“I know what you and your cousin said this place was,” he continued, giving a nod to Tarquin. “Adriata, in the Summer Court, in someplace called Prythian. But none of those names mean _anything_ to me. I don’t know where they are, and I thought I at least knew of every place on Azeroth now. Has this place been hidden?”

“Azeroth?” Feyre frowned at the unfamiliar name, looking first at Rhys, then at Azriel, then finally Helion and Tarquin. All four gave small shakes of the head – the name was just as unfamiliar to them. She looked back at Varian, whose frown mirrored her own.

“The planet?” he said. “This world…” he trailed off at the blank look that Feyre was giving him – and the males, too, she could see from a quick sidelong glance. While she couldn't see Cresseida without turning to look, she imagined that the other female was also just as confused. “My world,” he amended. “Is this…have I somehow come to another world?” Another frown. “But you’re elves, and elves are native to Azeroth.”

“We’re Fae,” Tarquin corrected. “We told you that earlier.”

A shrug. “There’s many kinds of elves. Night elves, high elves, blood elves – why not fae elves?” He ran an eye over them all. “You look a lot like all the other elves, and you know what humans are. Humans are as native to Azeroth as elves are, so…another hidden continent appeared to be the logical explanation.”

Feyre glanced up at Azriel, shadows coalescing around him as the shadowsinger kept his gaze fixed on Varian, his arms crossed across his chest. As if the shadows had whispered to him of her attention, he glanced back down at her.

“No,” he said softly, in response to her unasked question, “there’s no kind of faeries by those names here, and I haven’t heard of any on the continent.”

“Which continent?” Varian leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees.

“Just…the continent,” Feyre replied. “It doesn’t have a name beyond that. It doesn’t need one.”

She studied him again, marvelling at both just how like the prince of Adriata he was, and at how at ease he was amongst High Fae. No fear, no hatred, just wariness and curiosity. There were few humans who would act so – in all honesty, the only ones she could think of who were so at ease amongst Fae were Miryam and Jurian, and in both cases such ease came from long association. But if he were truly from somewhere that did not have the history shared by the humans and Fae here, somewhere where humans and Fae – elves, he called them – were used to being around each other, then that would explain it. But still…

“Fascinating.” Rhys’ voice drew her out of her thoughts. He was also studying Varian, head cocked. “You’re used to there being multiple continents, aren’t you? Wherever it is that you’re from. And you’re used to Fae. High Fae, at least.”

Feyre shot him a sharp look, double checking her mental shields, and Rhys gave her a lazy smile.

 _Prick_ , she thought at him, no venom in it. Just affection. His smile grew wider, and he returned his attention to Varian, who was nodding in response. Although, she noted, his attention was more on her than on Rhys. There was a puzzled half-recognition in his eyes, as if she reminded him of someone and he was trying to place it.

“High Fae?” Varian asked. Rhys gestured to Feyre, himself, Helion, Tarquin, and Cresseida. Varian raised an eyebrow, and glanced at Azriel. Azriel just brushed a hand over his rounded ear and shrugged. “I see.”

His voice said otherwise. Feyre smiled, and explained, “There’s many kinds of fae. The High Fae, the Illyrians,” her eyes flicked briefly to Azriel, “and the…lesser…faeries.” Her mouth twisted slightly. She’d never really liked referred to any kind of faerie as lesser, and Tarquin had a mirroring twist of dislike about his lips. “Then there’s the humans, of course,” she continued, “and…the other creatures.” Varian’s eyes hardened slightly, and she shrugged. “The ones who are neither human nor faerie.”

“Dwarves?” he asked. “Trolls? Ogres?” He looked around at them, but only puzzled silence met him. “Gnomes? Tauren?” he tried again.

“Never heard of any of them.” It was Helion who spoke this time. “Elves, I’ve heard of. It’s a very _very_ old name for High Fae.” He nodded at the looks given to him by Feyre and the other Fae. “It hasn’t been used in millennia – only the oldest records of my Court even mention it. They don’t mention any of those others, though.”

Varian exhaled heavily, drawing Feyre’s attention back to him. “Another world, then,” he said. “Another world that also has humans and elves. High Fae,” he corrected himself.

“How did you get here?” Feyre asked. She looked at Rhys. “How _could_ he have got here? You once mentioned cracks in the world that _others_ came through, but wasn’t that back when the world was still new?”

Violet eyes glittered as Rhys nodded. “That is the question, isn’t it, Feyre darling? We might have to ask someone who has more personal experience with such a thing.” He gave her a feline smile. “Like Amren, perhaps.”

Her brow shot up, then her ears picked up what his undoubtedly already had, twin footsteps in the corridor outside. One pair she knew well. There wasn’t even a knock on the door before it flew open, and a tiny High Fae stepped through, followed closely by the fae Varian. Even reborn rather than transformed into this body, power still crackled around Amren.

“Personal experience of what, Rhysand?” she demanded. She glanced around the room, the gathered fae there all giving her a smile or nod.

The human Varian, on the other hand, simply stared at her as though he were seeing a ghost.


	5. Chapter 5

_Tiffin._

Varian was frozen in place, unable to do anything except stare at the woman who’d just entered the room.

_Tiffin._

It couldn’t be, of course, the rational part of his mind said. For one, this woman had silver eyes and obsidian-black hair rather than Tiffin’s sapphire and gold, as well as pointed ears and eyes, but other than that…her _face_. That was Tiffin’s face. Even her voice, for all that her tone was far sterner than Tiffin’s had ever been, was the voice he still heard in his dreams.

He was dimly aware of the fae Varian growling at the attention that he was paying to this woman, but he still didn’t look away as she prowled closer. _Tiffin_ , his heart whispered. _Not Tiffin_ , his mind countered. She paused just before his chair, her eyes level with his even though he was seated. She must be a full foot shorter than him at the very least. He held his breath as she leaned forward and sniffed him.

“Amren,” Rhysand was saying.

 _Amren._ The woman who had been mentioned several times previously. The woman who… He broke his gaze from her face, and looked up at the fae Varian, whose features had taken on a kind of feral possessiveness as he glared back. Mates, Feyre had called them. Varian had the sudden distinct feeling that in this place, ‘mates’ held a far greater meaning than it did among the orcs.

Those silver eyes flicked from his face over to Rhysand as Amren withdrew, walking past him to take the seat on Feyre’s other side. “Yes,” she said simply as she sat.

Varian blinked. “Yes what?” He’d obviously missed something while he’d been so caught up in the shock of seeing Tiffin’s double. Nothing had prepared him from that, not even meeting his own doppelganger, or how familiar all the others had looked.

“Yes, you’re not of this world,” Amren replied coolly. _Pay attention_ seemed to hover behind her tone.

She could tell that just by _sniffing_ him. Light.

“So how did he get here?” Tarquin was asking.

“There isn’t a record of anyone coming here from another realm since before we starting keeping records,” Helion added. “Since before there were even High Fae. We only know it even happened because…” he coughed slightly, “because of, uh, the existence of beings like the Weaver of the Wood.”

“You don’t have to dance around it, Helion,” Amren snapped. “You mean me.” Those unsettling silver eyes regarded Varian again, and he wondered just what this tiny woman who radiated power actually was, then she flicked her gaze to Feyre and Rhysand. “At a guess – a guess, mind you – what you two did with the Cauldron possibly frayed things enough for rifts to open again.”

Feyre’s eyes widened, and Rhysand’s narrowed. “Does that mean that there’s other rifts?” he asked. “Other visitors from other realms?”

“How should I know?” Amren returned. “Nothing like that had ever happened before.”

“How do I get home?” Varian asked. Right now, that was what he was most interested in. Amren shrugged again.

“Find the rift you came through and go back through it,” she said. “If it hasn’t already closed and trapped you here.” He winced, and her eyes softened slightly. “Or, if there’s other rifts, one of them might also lead back to your world. _Might_.”

Varian wasn’t willing to settle for _might_. Not when he had so much to return to – Anduin, his people, his kingdom. His world. He wasn’t going to abandon them, or have his return hinge on ‘might’. Not now, with reports of demon incursions. Not ever.

“Can’t you make portals?” he asked. “I know it’s difficult to make them between worlds, but it’s possible.” He didn’t want to think about how much time and power it had taken for the Dark Portal to be built, and then rebuilt. Or what it had taken for it to be redirected through time as well as space. All that mattered was that it was _possible_. There was a chance to get home, no matter how long it took.

With that comment, he drew the attention of the entire room back to him. He’d had it before, and that hadn’t bothered him, but before had been when Amren wasn’t there. And having the full attention of those eerie silver eyes in Tiffin’s face was unnerving. He flexed his fingers absently, resting the heel of his hands on his knees.

“Explain,” Amren said, her voice – Tiffin’s voice – clipped.

He glanced between them all, his eyes coming back to rest on Amren. “The magic users of my world, and the other worlds that I know of,” he began. Amren’s brows raised in interest at the mention of other worlds. “They have the ability to teleport, like you do.” He paused at the puzzled looks. “Teleport? When you move instantly from one place to a completely different place?”

“Oh. You mean winnowing,” Tarquin said.

“Winnowing, then. Well, as well as being able to tele…winnow themselves or one or two others, they can also transport much larger groups.”

Amren was nodding. “We can do that. How many you can take depends on how strong you are.”

At least they were also familiar with that concept. “In addition to creating portals to, ah, winnow larger groups of people from place to place, magic users on our worlds have also been able to create portals to allow people to winnow between worlds.” He spread his hands with a slight shrug. “I don’t know how they did it, I’m not a magic user myself. I know it was difficult, and took many of them working together, but it _is_ possible. It’s been done several times that I know of.”

Amren continued to study him, and he found that he couldn’t look away. “You’re talking about stable, directed rifts,” she said. He nodded.

“That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”

Once she looked away, Varian found that he was able to, as well. Looking around, he saw that the expressions of the others in the room were a mixture of incredulity, amazement, and thoughtfulness.

“Before you even ask,” Amren told them, “I have no idea how to do such a thing. If I did, I’m not sure I’d still be here. I know that many of those in the Prison certainly would not.”

“I haven’t heard of it, either,” Helion added. “I can have my people check our libraries, but…,” he grimaced. “We’re still recovering from Amarantha’s plunder of them. We’re decades away from replacing even a fraction of what she stole or destroyed.”

Tarquin was also shaking his head. “You know that I don’t have anything like that, either, Feyre,” he said. A look of guilt and shame flashed across the High Lady’s face, and Varian wondered just what was actually being said between the two of them. “And the Summer Court was hit the hardest by Amarantha, as you know,” he added to Rhysand, who nodded.

“Even if Tamlin were inclined to help, the Spring Court was hit almost as hard by the end of that  whole mess with her and Hybern,” Rhysand said, “and I doubt we’d get any joy from Beron.” He turned to look up at the silent winged figure behind him. “What about Dawn and Winter, Az?”

The shadows around Azriel lessened slightly. “The Dawn Court, possibly, but it’s never been the kind of knowledge they recorded. As for Winter, if any library has that information, it’ll be in the city that Viviane guarded. The other Winter cities…” He shrugged, and Rhysand nodded.

Varian listened closely to the discussion, taking note of the information that they revealed. A war had been mentioned earlier – this Amarantha and Hybern, whoever they were, were evidently who that war had been against. A war harsh enough that it seemed that at least four of their territories had been plundered and devastated. He could sympathise.

“I’ll send word to Kallias,” Tarquin said. “And what about the Night Court, Rhys?”

Rhysand ran his free hand through his hair. “We’ll look in the library at Velaris. Az...”

“I’ll tell the others.” With a rustle of wings, Azriel vanished, leaving only shadows swirling where he’d been standing.

“While you’re looking in the libraries,” Tarquin said, standing, “we’ll go back to where we found Varian, and see if we can find the rift he came through – if it’s still there.”

As if that were a signal, the others began standing and exchanging quiet words of farewell, and promises to pass on any information found as soon as possible. Varian found himself watching Amren again, and hadn’t even realised that the fae Varian had come over to him until he heard his voice growling in his ear. “Stop looking at my mate like that.”

Varian turned to look at him. Regardless of world or race, some things never changed, and jealousy was evidently one of them. “I don’t want your mate,” he assured him. “It’s just that she looks so much like my mate did.” Given that none of them had used the term ‘wife’, he wasn’t sure that they’d understand what he meant if he had said it. “It’s…it’s hard not to look when…”

“Did?” A soft voice asked on his other side. Varian turned from the fae male to look up into Feyre’s storm-grey eyes.

“She died,” he said. Even after all this time, it hurt. “A long time ago. Amren,” he glanced over at the tiny woman again, “Amren could be as much Tiffin’s twin as you,” he looked at the other Varian and nodded to him, “could be mine.”

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said sincerely, then looked past him to the other Varian. “And Varian, if I were you, I’d quit it with the territorial male bullshit before Amren rips off your balls and nails them to the wall for acting like she’s your possession. It’s not like your bond is _that_ new.”

The fae had the good grace to look somewhat chagrined at her words. “I’m sorry,” he muttered to Varian. “That must be difficult. I don’t know how,” he also looked over at Amren. “If I lost her and then met someone who looked just like her? I’d stare, too.”

Feyre nodded, then placed a hand on Varian’s shoulder. “They take a bit of getting used to,” she said. “The fae, I mean.” He shot her a quizzical look, and she smiled. “I wasn’t always a fae – it’s a long story. But Tarquin’s a good one. You’ll be alright with him.” She patted his shoulder, then went to take Rhysand’s hand, the two of them and Amren vanishing a moment later, shortly followed by Helion.


	6. Chapter 6

Once the meeting had concluded, Tarquin led Cresseida and the two Varians out of the castle and down towards the docks. As always, he scanned the cityscape, taking note of where repairs were still progressing and how they were going.

“What was Feyre before she was a fae?” the human Varian asked conversationally as they walked. Tarquin shot him a surprised look.

“How did you know about that?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he could _feel_ his cousins groaning. Evidently, that wasn’t the correct response politically. Even the human was smiling slightly.

“She told me that she wasn’t always one.”

If Feyre had told him that, then he supposed it was alright to clarify it some more. “She wasn’t. She used to be human.”

The human Varian blinked. “How is that even possible?”

“It’s…,” Tarquin began.

“A long story,” the human finished along with him. Tarquin chuckled. “Yes. Well, to cut it very short – Feyre broke the curse that had kept all of Prythian bound to a tyrant queen.”

“Amarantha.” The fae Varian spat on the ground.

“Amarantha,” Tarquin agreed, his jaw clenching. Cresseida was scowling at the name of that _woman_. He glanced back at the human Varian, who was studying the reaction of all three, and gave him a small shrug. “The moment Feyre broke the curse, Amarantha snapped her neck in a fit of fury. Once Tamlin tore her throat out for it – the seven High Lords, if we choose to, can work together to give up a small fragment of our power to bring someone back to life. It’s only been done a handful of times in all of Prythian’s history. We did it for Feyre, for freeing us. It just so happened that bringing her back to life also transformed her into a High Fae.”

“Resurrection of sorts is possible on Azeroth,” Varian mused. “Nothing quite like that, though. Was that what ended the war you mentioned?”

“Hardly.” Tarquin snorted. “Amarantha’s fifty year occupation was brutal, to say the least, but her death was just a lull in the storm. The real war came several months later. But it’s over now, and we have the time to finally rebuild.” He looked up at a half rebuilt building as they passed it. High Fae and lesser faeries alike clambered over the scaffolding, passing and laying materials as they worked together to rebuild their city. Varian followed his look.

“Stormwind – my city – was destroyed by an occupying army when I was a boy,” he said. “It took us years to take it back and years more to rebuild.” He gave a humourless smile. “Then it was partially destroyed again in another cataclysmic attack, and we’ve almost finished rebuilding a second time. Once we’re done, it will be more beautiful than it ever was. And it it’s ever destroyed again, then we _will_ build it again.”

The two looked at each other for a long moment, before Tarquin nodded. “Yes,” was all he said, turning down the road leading to the docks. Cresseida began asking the human Varian about the High Fae – the elves – of his world. One a group of nature and moon worshippers that put even the High Fae rites to shame, it seemed, led by a high priestess. Another a group more like High Fae, led by a regent lord after losing their entire royal family to invasions and wars. Tarquin lengthened his stride at that, leaving them behind with his cousin Varian keeping a sharp eye on him. What the human had to say about the fate of the Sunstrider family brought back far too many painful memories of his cousin Nostrus, the previous High Lord, and the torturous deaths that Amarantha had inflicted on him and his family.

Pausing on a pier leading to a small sailboat, Tarquin dropped to one knee and dipped a hand in the water, sending out a pulse of magic to summon some of the watery denizens of his domain to him. A moment later, a large fishtail slapped the water, then a female figure emerged. She was covered in silvery scales, and her black eyes almost seemed to blink at him as she rested her arms on the pier. Tarquin gave her a small smile.

“I rescued a human from the waters, maybe an hour or two ago,” he said to her.

“Yes,” she replied. “Him.” She pointed to the human Varian, just now catching up along with the fae Varian and Cresseida.

“That’s right. We need to go back out to where we found him. I have a good idea where it is, but nobody knows under the water like nixies do. Will you go with us and help us make sure we find the right place?”

Her tail slapped the water again. “Why do you need to go back there, High Lord?”

The fae Varian growled slightly at her tone, but Tarquin held his hand up to settle his cousin. He didn’t take his eyes off of the nixie. “We need to find where he entered these waters.”

Her eyes went wide, and she vanished under the water, her tail slapping the surface hard enough to drench the found of them. Tarquin pulled the water out of their hair and clothes and dropped it back into the sea as the nixie reemerged, baring her teeth.

“It’s bad there. It’s wrong. Why do you want to go there? It’s not a good place to be, High Lord.” Even her eyes were twitching in agitation.

“What’s wrong with it?” Tarquin asked gently.

“It’s _wrong_ ,” she stressed. “Bad things are there.”

“I promise that we’ll deal with it,” Tarquin told her. “That’s part of my job as High Lord, is it not? But I need you to lead me there so that I can find it and deal with it.”

She slapped the water a few more times, her eyes blinking, then she bared her teeth again. “Fine. But quickly. Quickly!” She dove under the water, and he spotted her shape shooting underneath the sailboat, then her head bobbing above the rail on the other side. He got back to his feet and looked at the other three.

“I’ve never seen a nixie so agitated, not since….” He shuddered. Not since Amarantha’s forces had taken to hunting them for amusement. “Let’s see what’s got her so upset, and if it has anything to do with this rift that Varian arrived through.”

He led the way onto the sailboat, he and his cousins rigging the sails and casting off with barely a word needed between them. A couple of centuries of working together would do that. The human simply observed them curiously, while the nixie swam around the boat in agitated circles.

“It’s rare that I’ve seen such high ranking leaders who are also skilled sailors,” the human commented. Tarquin shrugged.

“I was a sailor long before I was a High Lord,” was all he said before they set off.

 

With the nixie as a guide, the small boat quickly sailed to where Tarquin had first fished Varian out of the water. The nixie led them a little further, then suddenly hurled herself on to the deck. Tarquin was at her side in an instant as she gasped and thrashed.

“What are you _doing_ out of water? You can’t survive here!”

She squeaked, pointing off of the boat’s bow. “There, there! There, High Lord, that’s where the bad things are! I brought you here to stop them, and I’d rather die here on a deck than the way my sisters died at _their_ hands!”

Tarquin’s jaw clenched, and he placed a hand on the nixie’s scaled head as he looked where she pointed. Water was pushed back from something that glowed an eerie green light. The human Varian hissed, drawing his sword, then looked up at the sky as a whistling sound caught all of their attention.

“Incoming!” the human bellowed, leaping at Tarquin and the nixie to drag them out of the way of the flaming green boulder hurtling toward the boat.


	7. Chapter 7

For the second time that day, he was drowning. Still gripping Shalamayne in one hand, Varian used the other to struggle towards the surface, the water glowing an eerie green. A hand plunged through the water, grasping his wrist, and dragging him up above the surface.

As Tarquin released his wrist, Varian realised that the water had solidified beneath him, and that he was standing on it as easily as if it were a field. He stood next to Tarquin, easily a couple of dozen feet from the sailboat where they’d been thrown when the infernal had landed on it. The infernal stood in the middle of the boat, the fel flames lapping at the wood and being drowned out the moment they appeared by waves sweeping over the sides, directed to each flame as it appeared. The infernal was occupied by punching over and over at something on the bow – Cresseida, Varian saw, who had been thrown up against the railing. The infernal never hit her, each blow glancing off of a shield bubbling around her. A flash of steel, and through the waves and flames he spotted her brother attacking the infernal from behind. When it turned towards him, he vanished, only to appear behind it again.

The little nixie was clinging to Tarquin’s leg, her eyes wide with terror. Varian blinked. While he and Tarquin were standing easily on the water’s surface, she was back in the water, as if to her, it was just normal waves. Tarquin knelt next to her.

“I’m sending you back to Adriata,” he said to her. “I need you to warn them. You can do that, can’t you?”

She nodded, and Tarquin carefully peeled her fingers from around his leg before a wave washed over her, and she was gone. As he stood, Shalamayne flashed over his head, and Varian skewered the fel bat that had flown in to take advantage of their distraction. Tarquin looked at it, crystal-blue eyes as hard as ice, and the waves snatched the creature off of the sword and dragged it down into the depths.

The two men turned towards that gap in the water ahead, watching screeching felbats flying up out of it and towards them. Behind them, head and shoulders above the surface of the water and behind whatever barrier it was that was holding the water back from them, the unmistakable profiles of eredar and felguard. Tiny imps on the eredar’s shoulders, seeing Varian and Tarquin standing on the water’s surface, leaped onto the water themselves – only to find that the surface wasn’t solid for them, and they shrieked as the leaped out and back to the relative safety of their masters.

Varian dodged a purple bolt of power from one of the eredar warlocks, charging towards one of the felguards that now swam towards them. Above him, a pair of felbats plunged from the sky, clutching their throats and spitting out the water that suddenly filled their lungs. The others spiralled up and away to assess what had happened before choosing their next attack. The water remained solid under his feet as he ran – as if he were running not on the middle of an ocean, but rather through mud. Not an ideal surface, but one he could work with. Shalamayne curved down towards the felguard’s neck, and the demon just barely managed to deflect the blow. Behind him, he could hear Cresseida and the other Varian keeping the infernal occupied, and in front of him, giant waves crashed down into the small barrier the demons were using, flushing them up and out of it.

Using the surface of an ocean in such a manner had to be the oddest battleground that he’d ever fought on, the squishing ‘ground’ remaining solid for him, but not for the demons that he fought. He stabbed and slashed down at the felguards and imps, dancing back away from most of their blows, and wishing that he was wearing his armour rather than the light clothing he’d changed into earlier. Waves and blasts of water knocked back some of the demons and eredar, and other waves dragged them under the water.

A large crash behind him caught his attention as he pulled Shalamayne from the throat of one of the warlocks, and he saw the infernal’s fist smash into the bow of the sailboat, upending it and sending the infernal splashing into the water with the boat flipping over onto its head. Steam rose around it. Varian’s breath caught for a moment, until he spotted Cresseida standing to Tarquin, her fingers twitching as she joined her cousin in using the ocean itself as a weapon. The fae Varian appeared out of nowhere next to him, giving him the barest of nods before they both turned back to the demons.

The battle grew more difficult as they fought, the felbats keeping high apart from dive-bombing at the most inopportune moments, and the felguard and eredar’s attacks whittling away at their unarmoured bodies. Varian gritted his teeth and kept fighting, swirling and lunging and slashing. He was so focused on the demons before him that he didn’t notice the glowing green fist beneath him until someone grabbed his shoulders and he was hauled away as the infernal’s fist smashed up where he had been.

Hauled away – and up. Varian looked up, to find himself being carried by Azriel, the winged faerie from the meeting earlier. The faerie’s wings beat strongly in the air; bat wings, Varian could see now. The faerie swooped to the side, dodging a warlock’s attacks, and Varian spotted two other winged humanoids engaging the demons. One was carving through felbats with a sword, while the other rained bolts of red destructive power onto the demons’ foothold.

From the air, Varian could see the entirety of the watery battlefield. An invisible wall kept back the water of a small pocket around a green portal, one of the eredar concentrating wholly on it. If the portal that Varian had come through had been there, it had now been entirely taken over by the Legion. Bodies of imps and felbats floated in the water, along with one of the felguards. The fae Varian was engaged with the other, and winnowed away several feet just in time to avoid another blow from the infernal swimming back up to the surface. The other eredar were occupied with trying to hold back Tarquin and Cresseida’s waves, or with exchanging bolts of purple energy with the red ones of the other winged faerie. As the infernal broached the surface, Varian’s eyes narrowed at it, calculating.

“Azriel!” he called up. Dark eyes flickered down to him, and a flash of blue lit up the faerie’s face as a bolt of energy struck near them, only to be dissipated on a magical shield. Varian pointed at the infernal with Shalamayne. “Can you get me to the back of that thing’s neck?”

Azriel gave him an ice cold grin in return. “Hold on,” was all he said, then veered off and around. Varian reversed his sword in his hands as they flew around, then straight down. With both his weight and Azriel’s driving down, Shalamayne slid easily into the gap where the infernal’s head met its body. The faerie released him and flew back up, twisting mid-air before raining bolts of blue magical force into the infernal’s chest as Varian leveraged his blade against its head, gritting his teeth as the fel flames licked up his legs and burned both cloth and flesh.

Red energy joined the blue, keeping the infernal trying to deal with three separate attackers. With a mighty heave, Varian pushed down on his blade with all of his might, separating the infernal’s head from its body. As it fell into the waves in pieces, one of those waves snatched Varian up and pulled him away, even as he saw the fel portal vanish and the invisible walls keeping the water back from it collapsed.

The wave deposited him back next to Tarquin and Cresseida, and he staggered slightly, fighting to keep his feet despite the fel burns covering his legs. The fae Varian appeared next to them a moment later, and the three winged faeries hovered next to them. One of them was Rhysand, Varian realised. He raised an eyebrow at the High Lord – those wings certainly hadn’t been there during the meeting. The other winged faerie was enough like Azriel that they certainly had to be the same race, but was more solidly built and with longer hair, the gems in his leather armour red where Azriel’s were blue. Rhysand’s attention was fixed on Tarquin.

“We have a prisoner,” he said, and gestured to one of the eredar warlocks, bound in ropes of shadow and hovering just above the water’s surface. “You can have it, or Azriel can.” The shadows around Azriel almost seemed to flicker at that. “Feyre, Mor, and Amren stayed in Adriata to help your forces against the attack there,” Rhysand continued. “Along with a very…loud…nixie.”

Tarquin’s dark skin paled slightly, but he simply nodded. “Do with that thing as you will. I’ll meet you back at Adriata,” he said, and vanished. Rhysand nodded to Azriel, who grabbed the eredar and also vanished, leaving only a swirl of shadow behind.

“Does that mean we get to play some more?” the other winged faerie asked, giving a feral grin. “That wasn’t nearly enough of a challenge.”

“What are you even doing here, Cassian?” the fae Varian asked. He placed a hand on Varian’s shoulder, and Varian felt the pain of the burns and cuts leech out of him, until he felt as good as he had been before the fight started.

“Saving your ass again, evidently,” Cassian drawled back.

“Later,” Rhysand cut in before anyone could say anything else. “Once we’ve dealt with the attack on Adriata.” He gave the four of them a nod, and also vanished into shadows, Cassian a moment behind him. The fae Varian’s hand tightened on Varian’s shoulder, then the two of them likewise vanished, winnowing back to Adriata and whatever awaited them there.


	8. Chapter 8

Adriata was burning. At least, that’s how it seemed to Feyre, who was far too up close and personal for her liking with these giant creatures made of boulders and fire. She couldn’t keep their innate fires out, though the Mother knew that she’d been trying, so instead she was making sure that those fires did minimal damage to the people, buildings, and bridges of the city. She extinguished them, drowned them in water, smothered them, froze them in ice, and still the fires kept coming.

Battle raged around her, with the Summer Court forces and the first Illyrian war bands to arrive engaging the other strange creatures on the ground and in the air. Beside her, Mor carved her way through the red-skinned creatures, blood slick on her fighting leathers, the golden-haired Third of the Night Court reminding everyone around her that she’d been fighting on battlefields long before most of them were born. Amren was taking a special delight in targeting those creatures that appeared to be using magic, and even the citizens of Adriata were fighting for their city. They had, Feyre supposed, lost enough to invaders already.

Her ears rung from the shrill song of the nixie in the harbour who’d first sounded the warning, and then remained to target the first invader who had dared to attack her. The nixie’s song contained all of her terror, her anger, her grief, and her desperation, and Feyre was very glad that she wasn’t the target of that horrifically beautiful melody. The first creature to have received the full force of it lay half in the water, its brain bleeding from its mouth, nose, and eyes.

“This is a distraction,” Amren said, suddenly behind her, and flicking blood off of her knife.

“From what?” Feyre asked. In response, Amren simply nodded off to one side of the harbour, where the low tide revealed a causeway leading out to a half ruined building. Several of the creatures were making their way across it. Feyre pushed sweat-damp hair back from her forehead. “But why? There’s nothing there, not since we took the Book.”

“Either they don’t know that, or there’s something still there.” Amren’s silver eyes glittered. “Residual power from the Book, maybe. It _was_ there for five centuries.”

Feyre cursed, encasing another building in ice to keep it from being set ablaze. She couldn’t both keep the fires out here _and_ get over there to try to stop them.

_Rhys._

_You called, darling?_

And then he and Cassian were there, in the air above her, twin bolts of power slamming into one of the fiery rock creatures. She grinned despite herself.

_Prick. Stop playing, some of those creatures are trying to get to the temple where the Book used to be._

Rhysand gave her a lazy wave, then he and Cassian arrowed straight for the causeway, a unit of Illyrians peeling off to join them. As destruction rained down onto the causeway, a huge wave swept over it. Tarquin was also back, then.

With their High Lords on the scene, the Summer and Night Court forces fought with renewed vigour. As the fiery rock creature finally went down, falling into pieces, Feyre was able to permanently extinguish its flames and take a small breather. The other creatures were engaged throughout the city.

“Where are these things coming from?” she said to Mor, who shrugged.

“They’ll have a portal somewhere.” She looked up to see the fae and the human Varian, both looking slightly worse for wear. “A rift,” the human Varian continued. “One that they’re able to control – they’ll likely have one of their own stationed at it.”

Feyre decided that right now was not the time to ask how he knew that. Eliminate the threat first, get questions later. “Do you know what it looks like?” she asked instead.

“I’ll know it if I see it.”

“That’s good enough for me.” She held her hand out to him, and shapeshifted herself Illyrian wings. “I’ll fly, you look, and when you see it we’ll take it out.”

He gave her an appraising look, taking in the sudden development of wings, then nodded. Feyre didn’t wait for him to have second thoughts before lifting him and launching herself into the air. It took her a couple of moments to stabilise herself with the extra weight – she definitely needed to practice taking passengers some more – but soon she held them at a steady hover above the city. Varian scanned the ground, then pointed.

“There.”

A small square, surrounded by buildings still under construction and repair, now played host to a man-sized disk of that same eerie green of the rock creature’s flames. Two of the red-skinned creatures were…putting magic into it? Taking magic out of it? Regardless, they had to be stopped. Feyre swooped in to the square, dropping Varian practically on top of one of the creatures, and sprouted herself talons before plucking the other one off of the ground. She shredded at it as she carried it up, then threw it back down into the ground where Varian was quickly dispatching its companion.

“It should close without them keeping it open,” Varian said to her as she landed and swiped her talons along the necks of both creatures to make sure that they were dead. Feyre shifted the talons back into fingers, wiping the blood off on her leathers, and studied the rift. True to Varian’s word, it was already shrinking rapidly, and then vanished.

 

 

With the reinforcements cut off, the creatures already in the city were soon dealt with. Feyre sat on the dock, cooling her feet in the water, and leaning against Rhys as she studied the human Varian.

“How did you know?” she asked. “About the rifts?”

He leaned against one of the mooring pillars, the others also looking at him and waiting for his response – some with more obvious patience than others.

“I’ve come across them before,” he explained eventually. “Those things that came through them – they’re called demons. They call themselves the Burning Legion.”

“They came here from your world?” Tarquin wanted to know. Varian shook his head.

“No, they’re from another world entirely, but they’ve tried to invade my world before. We’ve fought them off twice at great loss, and once managed to take the fight to them on another world they invaded.” He sighed, and ran a hand over his face, looking as exhausted as they all felt. “They’re like locusts – they go from world to world, extinguishing life and leaving only death and destruction in their wake. They’ve been at it for thousands of years, leaving thousands of ravaged worlds behind them.”

“How did they _get here_?” Feyre couldn’t actually recall seeing Tarquin this upset before, but then, he had just borne the brunt of battle and invasion yet again. If it had been Velaris which was attacked, she had to admit that she’d be feeling much the same way.

“The same way every creature not native to this world got here,” Amren said before Varian could respond. “The same way we discussed this Varian getting here earlier. Rifts have opened in the world once again, after millennia of it being stable and sealed. That’s how they got in.”

“Then how do we stop them? How do we stop this,” Tarquin waved his hand to encompass the city littered with demon corpses, “from happening again?”

“You fight,” the human Varian said. The fae one nodded at his words. “You fight, and don’t give into their promises of power, and don’t give them an inch that they haven’t paid for over and over. You try to clean up the taint of where they’ve been.” He mirrored Tarquin’s gesture of the city. “You close their portals when and where you find them, and try to find how to take the fight to them long enough to push them away for now.”

“And,” Rhys added, “we continue to do the research we were about to start on before Adriata was attacked. Finding a way to send King Varian here home may also help us find a way to stabilise things again to stop the rifts entirely.”

They all stood or sat in silence for a moment, then Cassian turned to Varian, his arms folded over his chest as his usual irreverent demeanour serious and businesslike. The face not of the humour and soul of the Court of Dreams, but of the General of the Night Court’s armies.

“I’m going to need to you tell me _everything_ that you know about this Burning Legion,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning - when A Court of Frost and Starlight drops on Tuesday, reading that (and dealing with the inevitable feels) is going to keep me occupied for a good few days, so there's unlikely to be that many chapter updates next week. There should be another couple before Tuesday, though.


End file.
